Part 6 (2/2)

”No, ma-Andrew, please don't. I couldn't bring them home.”

”I can leave them in a bag in your clachan, for your people to find. They wouldn't know who brought them. They might even think the soldiers forgot to take them along. Is your mother's name written in them?”

His eagerness to help made her feel uncomfortable. She would have liked to protest, to tell him not to do it, but ended up simply nodding her head.

”I've brought you something else, Helen.” He went to the fissure in the rock wall and retrieved a twenty-pound bag. ”I could get barley. Will you take it?”

She blushed, not knowing how to react. ”Thank you,” she managed finally. Suddenly, she had an irresistible urge to leave. ”I need to go back to the goats. Thank you, ma-Andrew,” she murmured, getting up.

He reached for her hand, holding it briefly in his palms. Their touch was as soft as she remembered from the dance, while hers felt rough and callous from digging roots. Embarra.s.sed, she withdrew it.

”Will you come and see me again? I would like you to. We can talk about the book. I'll be back in four days.”

She raised her gaze briefly. She wanted to flee. Before she knew it, she whispered ”Yes”, quickly slipped the book into her plaid, and hurried away with the bag. She did not look back, nor did she understand what made her suddenly feel so strange and panicky.

When she was back with the goats, it dawned on her that she couldn't bring the barley to the s.h.i.+elings. Although she felt pretty sure that her mother would take it, as she had taken the oats, her father would want to know who gave it to her. He wouldn't be fobbed off again. This would endanger Andrew. Maybe she could give it to mother in small quant.i.ties, then father surely wouldn't notice. Then she remembered Andrew's remark about hiding the books in the burnt-out clachan. She could place it there for the men to find. Didn't father say just yesterday that they'll go down and repair them? So after she saw Andrew ride away, she hid the bag again in the crack up on the promontory.

Betty didn't believe her sister's story about the oats. Somebody must have given them to her, she reasoned, the same person who gave her the biscuits and the bread, ... and now she had her jacket again. She would have liked to ask, but Helen's face seemed closed off. So three days later, after she had done her ch.o.r.es, she went to the top of the ridge between the s.h.i.+elings and the lochan. Hiding in the gra.s.s, she saw master Andrew and Helen share their banquet on the rock. She immediately understood why Helen had lied about where the oats came from, her father's tirade against master Andrew still too fresh in her mind. But what hurt was that Helen wanted to keep it a secret even from her. She felt betrayed. They had shared most of their thoughts since that horrible day. Maybe she should tell mother and ask her. Surely, she must know. She wouldn't have bought Helen's story and wouldn't tell father, not after master Andrew killed the officer, she reasoned. But something kept her from going to her mother. Maybe she should wait a while and see what happened.

As announced, the men went down to the clachan the next day, salvaging whatever they could for repairing the roofs and the inside wooden part.i.tions of the cottages, and a.s.sessing what building materials they might need. Dougal would then scout around in the nearby forests for suitable trees and along the sh.o.r.es of Loch Tay for thatching reeds. Robin and Alasdair would take turns hiding on the ridge above the glen which offered a good view to the sh.o.r.es of Loch Tay and west to Killin. They were to keep a lockout for soldiers, ”just to be on the safe side', as Dougal remarked.

Helen was in a quandary. With the men at work, she couldn't carry the bag down to the clachan and hide it there. Unless she carried it down one day, left it in the forest behind the clachan, and early next morning, before the men went to work, hid it in a cottage, she mused to herself. That should work.

Two days later, Dougal returned triumphantly from the clachan with the bag of barley. ”Woman, look what I discovered. The soldiers must have forgotten it under roof thatching.” He handed the bag to Mary. ”I think it's all right. Maybe we can still sow it.”

Mary took the bag and checked its content. Helen smiled to herself. It worked! Suddenly, she felt her mother's questioning gaze on her. She suppressed her smile and turned away. Did she guess it? Will she betray me? she wondered. Her pulse quickened, but Mary said nothing, just stowed the bag away, nodding.

Helen and Andrew met every second or third day for two hours in the late morning. He always brought food along, and they laughed about their secret banquets. They never ran out of things to talk, of books, of history, of politics, of the war, of the life in the s.h.i.+elings, of the MacGregor Clan- Andrew was left in no doubt that Helen was very proud of being a MacGregor. Both talked. Helen found in Andrew a very attentive listener. They avoided personal things. Although she would have liked to know more about him, but was too shy to ask.

Andrew always reached their meeting place early morning, usually before Helen came to release the goats. His grey mare grazing near the lochan told her that he was up on the rock.

One morning when she expected him to come, the meadow was empty. Her disappointment surprised her. She had been looking forward to seeing him. Short, as their meetings were, they provided enough food for thought and reminiscing for the days in between.

It was a warm July day and the water of the lochan beckoned for a swim. She undressed quickly and rushed into the cold, but invigorating water, was.h.i.+ng herself from top to bottom, wis.h.i.+ng she had soap.

That was how Andrew discovered her, as he came over the ridge from the Achmore Burn later than usual. Following his first impulse, he quickly dropped back behind the crest. He got off his horse and cowered on the ground, not knowing what to do. After a while, his intense desire to spy on her got the better of him, and he hid in the heath. She was just climbing back to sh.o.r.e, pressing out her hair. He could not tear his eyes away, his heart pounding madly. She was the first woman he saw leisurely enjoying her nakedness in nature. She flicked the water off her torso and limbs, briefly pressing her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s together. Then she lay on a rock letting the sun dry her white skin. Ashamed of himself, Andrew crawled back to his horse. After a few moments' hesitation, he left, berating himself for having spied on her.

Unbeknown to him, leaving so quickly was a stroke of good luck. Shortly after he departed, Dougal MacGregor arrived at the lochan. He wanted to check out the reports by his two sons of a lone horseman who regularly rode into the hills two or three times a week. When Robin had reported another sighting that morning of the grey mare, he decided to scout. He vaguely remembered that master Andrew had been riding a grey mare. He wondered whether that scoundrel had given Helen the oats. Although n.o.body else seemed to have doubted her story, he had questioned it right away.

As he climbed higher, he found horse tracks, but they seemed to turn around short of the lochan. He observed Helen alone near the sh.o.r.e. Her wet hair told him that she had gone for a swim.

When Helen saw him walk along the sh.o.r.e, panic gripped her for a few seconds. She immediately knew why he was here. Steeling herself against giving their secret away, she answered her father question with a disinterested ”No, I haven't seen anybody... Don't we keep the goats here because the lochan is so well hidden?”

Dougal, being of a suspicious nature, checked the glen behind the lochan for any horse tracks. He found none. The rain the day before had removed any traces.

After he left, Helen tried to calm her nerves. What would her father have done if Andrew had been here? She didn't want to think of it. Suddenly, she was glad that Andrew hadn't come and gave silent thanks. I've to warn him, she reminded herself. Why didn't I do it before? But she knew why. She found it difficult to talk about that horrible day.

That night Andrew woke up to a wet dream, seeing Helen standing in the sun, her hands raised to arrange her hair, lifting her proud b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Already on the next day he rode back to the lochan. He didn't understand why he dawdled around, delaying his departure. When he reached the crest, he scanned the area. Am I hoping to see her nude again? he asked himself, feeling ashamed, but unable to help it. Then he saw her, standing half submerged in the water, rubbing soapwort into her hair to form a lather. He dismounted and sneaked to the lake. Hidden behind bushes, he quickly undressed and swam toward her. She was still standing at the edge, rinsing her hair. When he got closer, he floated silently. She turned around, saw him, and submerged over her head into the water for a short moment.

”Why are you here when I'm bathing?” she chided him, after surfacing again. ”Did you think I didn't see you coming?”

”But if you saw me coming, why didn't you get out?”

”Because I didn't think that you would come all the way to me.” But the smile on her face belied her reproach.

They circled for a while with laughing eyes, splas.h.i.+ng water at each other.

”Do you swim often,” asked Andrew.

”No, just to wash myself. But now we have no soap left... The water only gets warm enough for swimming about this time of year.”

”It's still horribly cold. How can you stand it?”

”Not for very long, that's why I want to get out now. Turn around and don't look.”

”But I want to see you. You're beautiful.” He swam closer to her. ”I'll help you get out. It's slippery here.”

He got out of the water and stood on a boulder, holding out a hand. She reached for it, and said: ”Look away now, I'm coming out.”

”Why? You're looking at me too. Why shouldn't I look at you?”

And she was looking, seemingly intrigued by his slim, but athletic body. It lacked the broad shoulders of the MacGregor men. His chest was almost hairless. Her gaze was caught by his manhood, shriveled up from the cold water of the lochan, innocent like a boy's. The tight curls of his black pubic hair formed a narrow point reaching toward his navel.

With his help, she pulled herself out of the water, and immediately ran away to her clothing, pulling her petticoat over her wet body, her back to him.

He jogged back to this clothes, got dressed, and fetched his horse. When he came over the crest, he could not find her. The goats were still loose, but there was no sign of Helen. He knew that she could not have left for the s.h.i.+elings. She would not have reached the ridge yet. He called out softly. No response. He pleaded with her that he would never again intrude on her when she was bathing. After a quarter of an hour, he placed the pouch with the food he had brought on a rock near the path and left, discouraged, afraid that he had spoiled their friends.h.i.+p, that she might never again want to see him. At the crest he cast another searching glance over the lochan. There was still no sign of her.

It was several days before Helen found Andrew's horse grazing near the lochan again. She had expected him back a day or two earlier. But now she suddenly hesitated going up to the rock to meet him. She felt still embarra.s.sed about having remained in the water when she saw him come over the crest. After releasing the goats, she sat near the shelter for almost an hour, battling with conflicting emotions, wanting to be with him, ashamed to face him, ripping out gra.s.ses, tearing them up, nervously pulling the petals from daisies one by one, and getting more and more angry with herself. Finally, her desire to be with Andrew won and she slowly walked up the path. When she came to the rock, she saw him repack his pouch. She leaned against the wall, watching him, her arms tightly crossed under her bosom. Suddenly he became aware of her, looked up, and after a short hesitation came over to her. She lowered her eyes.

”You're cross with me, Helen, aren't you?” he asked, his voice expressing his regret.

She met his gaze and answered: ”No.”

”Then why didn't you come to meet me sooner?”

”I was embarra.s.sed about the other day.”

”I'm sorry, Helen. It won't happen again, I promise.”

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